


Breath The Sky

by rowanscrown



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Paganism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 08:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13700808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowanscrown/pseuds/rowanscrown
Summary: More than anything, Feliks wishes to see what Toris sees.





	Breath The Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Nature

Toris can’t decide on which flower he liked best. There was a twist in his words, and his eyes, when Feliks stretches out his arms with a bouquet, asking, “Which one is the prettiest?”

The bouquet is an abundance of poppies; light, dark, pink hues of red. And he just _can’t_ decide. Can’t pick one flower. Feliks doesn’t understand why, and a part of him doesn’t want to understand, because Toris is still raw – pink and tanned from the sun, silently refuses to ease into the paleness of Feliks’ people, and his knuckles are rubbed sore, knees tender, hair braided at the base of his neck, in between strands around his temples, as if Feliks won’t catch it. Sometimes he pulls it into a ragged ponytail, bunched and twined, and it draws everyone’s eyes.

Despite himself, he asks, “Is it _really_ that hard to choose?”

Toris takes his time to respond. “Well…yes. It’s like choosing a life over another. Wouldn’t you find that difficult?”

It doesn’t make sense. None whatsoever. They’d been crowned together for a short while, but Toris is strange. But, still, as his chest grew warmer, his heart, inexplicably, fonder, for the man with the tired smile – a smile meant for the sky – and worn eyes, there’s a blooming thought of how it works. What makes him tick, mind and body.

“Talking nonsense again,” his Queen would say, and though she doesn’t mind (does he?), the root he’s planted so deep inside himself begins to grow; following through his eyes as he brushes through the rye fields. Toris’ fingers wind around seemingly every piece of grass, and Feliks finds himself watching the fluid movements, the flicker in Toris’ eyes, and the twist in his neck.

“But there is life everywhere,” Toris would, also, say. There is life in everything; everything that has been given to us, don’t you understand? Every plant breathes, dies; the flowers speak through their petals, opening to the whispers of spring. Trees empty life into the ground, the air, the clouds, the animals – they are living, yes?

Toris tells him tales of spirits wandering the forest, how Gilbert himself is wary of his land during both night and day. The spirits are beautiful and ugly, and a rainbow is a trail to a Goddess’ child. The colors are a gateway to Perkūnas himself. This and more – this brings life.

“Like a circle?” Feliks questions.

“I suppose.”

He hadn’t understood, but now he wants to. The root is thick with Toris – how he lays against the soil, prays everyone – friend or foe – will be granted with a full stomach, a fulfilling life, and love. Toris’ mouth breaths a warmth only the sun could give.

“I want to understand,” Feliks confesses. Confession is a heavy feeling, a defeated feeling. Yet all doesn’t matter when Toris smiles and leads him through the forest, watching for hares, greeting rolling streams like old friends. The sun weighs through the branches, stinging Feliks’ bare shoulders. Toris takes his hand and presses his palm to the tree.

Birds chirp, wings flutter through the canopy of trees. Feliks closes his eyes. _I want to see what you see._

Toris’ words are wild. “Do you feel them?”

The pulse under Toris’ fingers slows, and the heartbeat between their hands, the bark, the sun itself, fills Feliks’ lungs. He whispers, “Yes. Yes, I do.”


End file.
